


God’s Great Dust Storm

by invisibledeity



Series: God Complex [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Noctis POV, PTSD, in which noctis tries his damndest to help his best friend, it's all very obscurely mentioned though, nothing explicit in this but there are references to past rape and violence, recovery fic, some eating issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: Noctis feels the walls vibrate softly with the resonance of the hit. Sounds like a fist slamming into the sink. In the air, there’s muttering. Cursing. For the umpteenth time since he went in to wash his face, Prompto utters another ‘Fuck you’ to nobody.-----A trip to the Rock of Ravatogh ought to be a nice interlude to their journey after what transpired at Vesperpool. But Prompto's battling demons far darker than Noctis has ever experienced before, and for once, Noctis is at a loss for what to do.A recovery fic set after the events of Auf Wiedersehen, Boy.





	God’s Great Dust Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write this.
> 
> As this is a continuation to Auf Wiedersehen, Boy, it's part of the same series. PLEASE take heed before looking at anything else in the series, as those works are explicit and deal with upsetting material.  
> If you haven't read Auf Wiedersehen, all you need to know is Ardyn Did Not-So-Good Things. Most of the recent stuff I've been writing in this series has been exploring Ardyn's feelings and motivations and inner trauma, and really, it was time for some focus on Prompto.

The caravan at Ravatogh is a cheap construction. The walls are far too thin and there’s cracks creeping up the edges. Ignis blames it on the dry environment, on the heat from the nearby geyser, but Noctis doesn’t care much, he’s just trying to ignore it. They’re here for one more day, collecting sharp tail feathers from the thunderocs up the mountain. Good material to strengthen his spells.

            Always collecting things, hoarding items, running extra errands, because Noctis is too weak on his own and everyone knows it.

            Collecting mythril. That didn’t turn out so good, did it?

            A wave of frustration builds, and Noctis stops himself from hitting out at the small bedside table. He doesn’t want to make a sound, because Prompto’s in the bathroom and he’s trying to listen.

            It’s barely been two days since they met back up with Gladio in Lestallum. Barely two days since the memory of humid forest basins and torn-down shrines and everything in between. Prompto’s been so quiet, far too quiet, and Noctis can’t stand it. Of course, he knows why. They all know why. And it’s clear that Prompto can’t stand that fact, because the only time he is loud is when he’s like this, when he thinks nobody’s paying attention.

            Noctis feels the walls vibrate softly with the resonance of the hit. Sounds like a fist slamming into the sink. In the air, there’s muttering. Cursing. For the umpteenth time since he went in to wash his face, Prompto utters another ‘Fuck you’ to nobody.

            The air catches in Noctis’s throat and he falls still, ears straining.

            Prompto hisses out nonsense words under his breath. It’s more keening than hissing, and if he put any more power behind it he’d be screaming. Noctis knows that kind of hushed yell; he’s done it himself, many a time. Thinking about his mother. Failing to save her. Being too small, too weak, too feeble.

            He doesn’t know how to show Prompto he gets it, at least as far as the frustration part goes. As for the rest…

            He doesn’t want to think about that. The word teeters at the edge of his mind and he shuts it out.

            A whimper now, and another hit. The sound of flesh thwacking on ceramic. Bruised knuckles, most likely. Noctis winces. Now he hears heavy breathing, and small concessional noises until, finally, there’s silence. For about half a minute, Prompto holds himself so still it’s as though Noctis is all alone in the caravan.

            The door cracks open. Noctis distracts himself by playing on his phone, trying his hardest to look natural as his best friend exits the bathroom calmly and sedately.

            ‘Hey,’ Prompto says, and his voice is small and slightly deflated despite his best efforts.

            ‘Morning, Prom.’ Noctis lets his eyes flicker upward for a moment, only a moment, and by the Six, Prompto’s a mess. He’s styled his hair, but it looks like he’s done it without once looking in the mirror. His skin is splashed so clean with water it’s pinking up at the edges, and the veins in the whites of his eyes are more noticeable than ever. He doesn’t look dirty, but rather, exhausted and trying far too hard. His smile is strained, but pleasant. And it would almost be convincing, too, if Noctis didn’t know him quite as well as he did.

            ‘Sleep well?’

            It’s such a stupid thing to say. It’s all reflex, out of his mouth before he can stop it, and Noctis hides his cringing by pretending to check the time on his phone. Prompto breathes in a little sharply, but transitions fluidly to a self-conscious, apologetic grin.

            ‘Eh, well enough. I mean, I’m … glad I’m awake, y’know.’

            ‘Yeah… I, uh … How ‘bout we go bug Iggy for breakfast?’

            Prompto’s eyes dart around the cramped caravan space. ‘Where are they?’

            ‘Gladio went for a walk. Ignis is … in the kiosk, I think. Said he wanted to read the paper.’ He tries to keep it casual. Doesn’t want to make Prompto too aware of how long he had taken in there.

            ‘I’m not really hungry,’ Prompto says, avoiding his eyes.

            ‘Sure?’

            ‘Yeah.’ There’s a bitter tinge to his voice now, so Noctis doesn’t push it. He offers Prompto a match on King’s Knight, but he declines. The air stands all awkward for a few minutes, then Prompto makes a point of stretching.

            ‘Think I’m gonna make like Ignis and check out the kiosk.’ When Prompto reaches the door, he checks himself, turns around and asks, ‘Want anything?’

            ‘No, I’m good.’ Noctis puts the phone aside, makes a point of stretching too. ‘Should really get up.’

            ‘Heh, take your time.’ And with that, Prompto is out the door.

 

Noctis is always sluggish in the morning, that’s nothing new. And part of him is still feeling frustrated about needing the thunderoc feathers. So he dallies a little longer than he should have.

            When he ekes open the caravan door half an hour later, it’s like breaking the seal on some offworld habitat. The hot, stuffy air is replaced with a fresh, sparse breeze. It doesn’t help that the faint smell of sulfur from the nearby geyser is invading his senses, nor that the scenery is a mat of volcanic ash. If not for the outpost and the row of vehicles parked outside, it really could be another planet.

            He huffs, pockets his phone, and makes his way to the kiosk.

            Ignis is there, sitting on one of the fold-out chairs by the picnic table, and facing him, just shielded from view, is Prompto. Noctis grinds to a silent halt, because it looks like they’re talking, and rather intently at that. He doesn’t want to interrupt. But more than that, he wants to know what they’re discussing, because Prompto didn’t exactly open up to him back in the caravan _._

            ‘You don’t want to push it too much,’ Ignis is saying. ‘Start with a few seconds in - like that,’ and here he makes a show of breathing in, one hand settled around his diaphragm like a singing tutor, ‘and then out, like so.’

            ‘’Kay, yeah, I’ll … give that a shot.’ This is followed by the sounds of regulated breathing - in and _hold_ , then out and _hold_ \- and this repeats a number of times until Ignis smiles.

            ‘That’s good.’

            ‘Yeah? Hah, we’ll … we’ll see.’

            Ignis folds his hands across the newspaper on his lap, fixing Prompto with that signature stare he reserves for serious things. ‘Prompto, listen. Right now, those negative voices in your head are telling you all sorts of untruths. But you’re far stronger than them. One must keep moving forward.’

            Noctis watches the back of that blond head shake in agreement. It seems like a natural enough break in the conversation, and he steps forward now, not wanting to snoop any longer.

            ‘Ah, Noct! Awake at last, are we?’ A faintly amused smile plays across Ignis’s lips and Noctis is glad for the instant shift to normalcy this brings. He rubs the back of his neck as he replies.

            ‘Yeah, barely. Could do with ten more years, honestly.’

            ‘Well, a prince cannot keep his subjects waiting forever.’

            Noctis grins sheepishly. ‘Eh, I guess. Ready when you are.’

            ‘Always,’ Ignis responds, putting on his gloves and standing.

            Prompto agrees - ‘Yeah, Noct! Lead the way!’ - and it’s immensely comforting to see some of the spark back in his eyes.

 

The hunt is a success. They rendezvous with Gladio near the mountain’s slopes, and strike lucky with a flock of thunderocs not too far up. It’s a quick enough trip, scrabbling up lapilli-laden slopes in the high noonday sun, and they’re back down the mountain by the early afternoon, just before the dust starts to really blow up in the air.

            Sania, the frog lady, is hanging around outside the kiosk when they rock up, aiming for a bite to eat.

            ‘Well now, fancy meeting you boys here,’ she says. She’s a little too eager to talk about her research, because she flings her arms wide and a wayward hand grazes Prompto’s shoulder, fingertips brushing his bare skin. He flinches, a completely automatic reaction, and Sania’s kind eyes widen. ‘Oh, sorry there!’

            He recovers quickly enough to utter a brief ‘No, s’okay,’ then he steps away, eyes still wild, casting his head a fraction of an inch downward as he lets Gladio take over the conversation.

            ‘You here for more environmental research, I take it?’ The way Gladio steps in and leans on the windowsill makes Noctis wonder if he’s hitting on her. Knowing Gladio, he probably is.

            Sania smiles and adjusts her hat.

            ‘Well, sure I am, but … what’s up with your friend there? Jumpy as a may bug in June.’

            ‘It’s been a rough journey,’ Gladio says, quick off the mark.

            ‘Oh. Sorry to hear. I won’t bother you lovely lads about more of them frogs, in that case.’ Sania’s smile is kindly, but she looks a little disappointed.

            Noctis finds himself offering to help her out. ‘After lunch, of course. But yeah, I’ll do it,’ he says. And Sania’s face lights up.

            Ignis looks faintly surprised. Hah, perfect. He always feels a thrill when he manages to impress the man, and this time is no exception. Doesn’t happen that often. He smirks ever so faintly, while Gladio shoves him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Good man,’ Gladio says in his deep rumble.

            They have a late lunch first. And that brings its own problems. They order the skewers, and Noctis asks for extra spice, because he knows Prompto likes them that way, and he knows Prompto well enough to know he won’t be asking for it himself.

            ‘Sure you can handle the hot one?’ The vendor has a small twinkle in his eye and, for some reason, Prompto looks away, takes his seat and busies himself with his phone. Noctis squints, because was there … did something just happen?

            But no, the world continues on as normal. The most that’s happened is Ignis, too, casting a backward glance, but then he seems to forget it, and continues finalising the order. Gladio carries a couple of beers to the table; Noctis takes the soda.

            When the food arrives, it smells delicious, all fried up and glistening with fat and grease. For a moment, Noctis is lost in the flavour, despite the fact it teeters on the edge of _too_ spicy for him. He smiles at Prompto, a little too goofily, and digs in.

            A moment later there’s a shift at the edge of his vision. Prompto twitches. Utters a barely-suppressed cry. Shaking off as if something has landed on his arm. A fly, perhaps, or dust kicked up by the wind.

            ‘Ugh. No!’

            A pause as the minor outburst makes the vendor look up from behind his grill. A few tourists idling by the souvenir stand are interrupted enough by the noise to glance over curiously. Gladio shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Ignis’s brows are narrowed and he’s paused with his food halfway to his mouth.

            Noctis is the first to speak.

            ‘Prom?’

            ‘What? No, I … I’m fine. Sorry.’

            ‘Are you sure?’ Ignis now, speaking firmly, full of concern.

            ‘Yeah.’ Prompto fixes them all with a look that seems derisive, as if they’re the ones that have overreacted. All but raising his eyebrows to do so. He says nothing more and turns to the food, twirls the skewer stick between finger and thumb, watches the grease drip off the spiced meat.

            Noctis sits back in the creaky chair and focusses on his own food. His muscles, tight and tense from the instant he heard the cry, take a long time to relax, and he knows he’s going to be glad of the physical exercise later, when he helps Sania out.

            The wind’s whipping up a treat now. Dust swirling in gentle spirals past the outpost, and Noctis speeds up his chewing, because gritty food is far from pleasant.       

            Gladio finishes his fourth skewer and pushes the stick onto his plate. His eyes lock on to Prompto’s plate, which is far from empty.

            ‘Not having any more?’

            ‘One was enough,’ Prompto says firmly. His determination is a thin veneer, and as Gladio opens his mouth to counter it, Noctis shuts him down.

            ‘Gladio.’ A raised hand. Gladio grunts in - is that annoyance? - and Prompto’s lower lip trembles.

            He’s feeling guilty, no, no, no, this is exactly what Noctis wanted to avoid. Prompto’s hand hovers above the stick, fingers twitching as he tries to force himself to pick it up. He’s fighting with himself.

            ‘No, gotta … ugh. Can’t let it in …’ He finishes his sentence with a strangled cry, and his hand ceases its hovering, returns to the edge of the table, where his thumb strokes and his fingers tap.

            Ignis steps in. ‘Prompto, you can’t survive on only one skewer a day.’

            And, no, he’s looking up at Ignis with worried, pleading eyes now.

            ‘I’m … I’m gonna puke if I do. Please.’

            ‘You really must eat.’

            By now, Noctis has had enough. He slaps his hand on the table, not too loudly, and says, ‘He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.’

            Gladio huffs and looks away, suddenly more interested in the environment. Ignis casts his eyes down, and concedes. ‘Of course.’

            A sigh from Prompto. Frustration. He’s blaming himself. He wants to please. His eyes search Ignis’s as his fingers drum _tap-tap-tap_ on the picnic table.

            ‘Is it okay if I try and finish it later?’

            ‘Prompto, this isn’t about making me happy. I was merely a little concerned.’

            ‘Just take it at your own pace, kid,’ Gladio adds, and his low voice makes for a brusque interruption. He picks up his beer and heads back to the caravan.

            Ignis finishes not long after and joins him. ‘Don’t hesitate to call if you need me.’

            Noctis stretches. The tension’s catching up to him. Every weakened limb feels stiffer than normal.

            ‘So. I got myself into this stupid frog mess…’

            ‘Heh, yeah. Good luck with that.’

            ‘Thanks for the help.’ He chuckles. ‘So what are you gonna do for the rest of the evening?’

            ‘Oh, me? I’ll just chill out with some music for a while.’ Prompto looks a little ashamed when he adds, ‘I’m not gonna go too far.’

            Noctis offers up a smile. ‘No probs.’ He rubs the back of his neck, and for a second Prompto smiles back and it looks genuine. ‘I should probably go help Sania now. You all right here?’

            It’s hard to try and give support without it turning to babying, but it seems he calculated his words correctly, because Prompto seems immensely grateful. ‘Yeah,’ he says, and he’s still smiling as he returns to nursing his soda. The rest of the food remains untouched.

 

Frogs are a pain to catch. It’s worse when every second step has him stumbling into hot spring water that smells of rotten eggs, and worse still when the volcanic ash turns to a cement-like mud filling up his boots. But Noctis does it in the end, and as the sixth frog is placed into the carrier basket, he lets out a deep sigh, closing his eyes against the low afternoon sun. Sania will be pleased.

            He’s walking back to the outpost when he sees Prompto sitting by the geyser, perched on those small rocks that seem to act as natural benches for the tourists. But now the hour’s a little too late for the tourists, so he’s all alone. One knee crooked up so his elbow can rest, one hand stuffed into messy blond hair. The other hand is allowing his camera to dangle, far too precariously, above the geyser pool. He’s not focussing on anything in particular, staring off into some other world, eyes like glass. With the dust in the air and the low, red sun casting warm shadows over the volcanic plains, he looks almost like a painting from the Insomnian renaissance period. Blond hair almost glowing in the light, like a halo about his head.

            Noctis has no idea how this makes him feel so peaceful and sad at the same time, but he just accepts it. He wants to reach out.

            ‘Hey,’ Noctis says as he saunters over casually. When he gets close enough, Prompto pulls out his earbuds.

            ‘Heya.’

            They look at one another for a while, until Prompto turns away, gesturing out at the scenery. ‘I, uh, just been taking some photos. It’s really beautiful here. This place is so high and dry.’

            _Miles apart from the humid basin of the Vesperpool._

Noctis doesn’t say that out loud. Instead, he casts his gaze around, following the trail Prompto’s hand indicates.

            ‘Yeah. It’s really something.’

            ‘Looks like a dust storm’s moving in,’ Prompto says. ‘Was kinda hoping to capture the geyser going off in the middle of it.’

            ‘Sounds good.’ Noctis shifts his weight off his bad foot. ‘Mind if I sit with you?’

            ‘Oh. Sure.’

            He sets the container of frogs down by the rock. It’s no problem leaving them there for a moment - they’re well insulated against the biting wind, and they’ve enough water lining the container to keep them happy.

            When they’re both seated side by side, atop the small rock in the midst of the vast volcanic steppe, their surroundings take on an almost magical tone. The dust gathers in strength, drawing elaborate spirals in the air, pulling up sharp nuggets of lapilli that scratch at Noctis’s face. He shields himself, picks the worst of the grit from his eyes. When he steals a side glance at Prompto, he’s surprised to see him with face turned into the wind, eyes closed, embracing the sensation of the grit against his face. It seems almost masochistic, reverential, submitting to the elements like that.

            He thinks back to the time Prompto’s spent in the bathroom, the pink-tinged evidence of too much scrubbing at skin. Maybe this feels good. Maybe it feels cleansing.

            He watches Prompto, thinking, mulling things over. Should he speak? He wanted to know if they’d be sharing the caravan’s poky bed again tonight. That first night in Lestallum, after they returned from the Vesperpool, Prompto had kicked him awake multiple times throughout the night. Bad dreams. It had happened on a few further occasions, and each time Prompto had felt so bad.

            Eh, he could weather it another night.

            The sun disappears below the horizon, and now it’s just the meagre buzzing lights from the outpost, and the reddish glow from the top of the volcano, where the volcanic glass spires refract the last of the sun’s rays. Sania had rambled on about it earlier, while she’d handed over the frog container. She called the stuff Tachylite, but Noctis far prefers her mythological explanation. _Etro’s hair,_ crystal formed from the flyaway strands of the ancient goddess’s sacred locks. There is an old legend that runs thus: every time this goddess of gateways shifted between the borders of the living and the dead, she shed a few flame-red hairs from her head. And so they came to settle atop the mountain that would one day become Ifrit’s home.

            Stories about Etro are rarely told any more. Unlike the Six, she’s a fiction. Or so they say.

            But despite all that, just being in this place, just hearing the myth - even when spoken in Sania’s brash, over-excitable accent - makes it feel like there is real power behind the tale.

            He nudges Prompto gently, indicating toward the fiery peak. ‘What would you do if it erupted now?’

            ‘Heh. Run, probably.’

            ‘Probably?’

            ‘Well, y’know, I’d wanna get a good shot of the lava first.’

            Noctis laughs, and nudges his best friend on the shoulder. For that one glorious moment, under the elemental might of the building dust storm, things feel normal between them again.

            Until Prompto says, ‘I keep dreaming about running. About getting real far away. Like, I run and run and I just … don’t stop.’

            Noctis doesn’t ask who he’s running from. He doesn’t say the name, he just lets it hang in the air, as if speaking it would give the bastard too much power. _Ardyn._

            Eventually the wind grows too strong even for Prompto and he sighs.

            ‘Well, looks like the geyser doesn’t wanna play nice.’ He shakes off, secures his camera round his neck. ‘Let’s just head in.’

            They walk back to the outpost together, wind blustering at their backs as if speeding them to safety.

 

Night passes with little incident but for the faint roar of the dust storm outside. Noctis dreams of the goddess Etro. It’s an unsettling dream, in which her fiery hair becomes the gold atop Prompto’s head, and he’s at the centre of a grand mosaic, held still in the circle by some heavenly light, marked with the glyphs from the havens. It looks terrifying. In fact, it looks a little like the murals in the Citadel.

            But it makes him sad, because the image is so strong and so lonely, and it’s always Prompto, right in the centre where he doesn’t want to be.

            Noctis wakes up in a cold sweat, but for once, Prompto is sleeping soundly beside him, and so when morning comes he says nothing of his own dreams. He wants to preserve such moments; he wants Prompto to heal.

 

Back in the car. They have what they need, and now it’s back to Cape Caem for the final trip to Altissia. Prompto’s silent for the most part as he rides shotgun, and nobody mentions cars or driving or journeys, not even when the Regalia starts running low on petrol. Ignis is tactful when he says ‘Just going to stop by the service station for a few minutes.’ Gets out, pays for petrol while Noctis takes initiative and fills her up. Then it’s back to the road, back to the grind.

            Prompto breaks his silence when a particular song comes on. ‘No’ is the only thing he says as he fumbles for the controls, skips over to the next track. Nobody complains, nobody makes comment. And now the music shifts and turns like a wave, moving through swelling chords that bring a melancholy to the car, despite the sun beating down and the wind tearing at their ears as they cruise down towards the seashore.

            After a while, Ignis asks Noctis to pass him another can of Ebony. Gladio’s engrossed in his book, and how he doesn’t get carsick, Noctis will never know. He almost makes some innocent quip about how uncomfortable it is having such little room in the back of the car again, but he bites back on his words. Really not appropriate.

            His gaze settles on Prompto again. He’s busy looking out at the passing scenery. Brows lowered - Noctis can see that much from the rear-view mirror. Looks for all the world like he’s having a private conversation with someone sitting just to the right of the passenger door. For a moment, his jaw sets hard - Noctis can see the strain in the tendons round his neck - and to the space on the road next to him, he says quietly, ‘Fucking die.’

            Noctis doesn’t hear every syllable, it’s too quiet for that, but he can see his mouth move and he won’t be forgetting that madcap look in his eyes any time soon.

            Ignis notices. Sets down his drink in the cup holder immediately.

            ‘Everything okay, Prompto?’

            There is a world of contradictions settling in behind those strained, bloodshot eyes. Prompto clears his throat, steals an embarrassed side glance at Ignis, then turns back to look at the world as it speeds on by.

            ‘It’s nothing.’

            Noctis sits quietly in the back of the car, and decides that the next time he sees Ardyn, he’s going to take Prompto’s words to heart and fucking murder him.

 


End file.
